a random tumble of Molstrade
by scribblingnellie
Summary: Based on tumblr prompts, these are quickly written and posted fics featuring my two faves - Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper - being wonderful and in love! Fluff, family, angst, sexy, AU, drama,possibilities, surprises, happiness, honesty - there's all sorts here! Many thanks for reading. (fics range from K through to M rating - bit of variety!)
1. speechless

**speechless**

'Hey there, I got your text…' Pushing the lab door open, Greg stopped short. '…oh sorry, I thought you were Molly'

And the young woman standing at the table with her back to him, slowly turned, a smile spreading across her face.

'Oh.'

Wow. She looked… different.

Greg, his hand pointing to his hair in a sort of dumbfounded gesture, found himself staring, unable to take his eyes from her. The beautiful long chestnut ponytail was gone, the hair he'd rather hoped to one day to run his fingers through, to see it cascade over her bare shoulders…

_Focus_

But this, this was… rather sexy.

'Hi there yourself.' Molly grinned, her eyes twinkling at the obvious effect that her new hair was having on him. 'How are you?'

'Um… I'm…good… yeah.'

Cut short at the back, it tapered along her neck, showing the rather sensuous curve down to her shoulder that was hidden beneath her lab coat. Moving forward, it gained length, almost covering her ears. And the front softly tapered down her face, strands gently resting against her cheeks. Touching her face softly, the new cut brought out the little auburn glints in her hair, making her eyes an even more gorgeous brown.

'That's good to hear, Greg.'

'Hmm… sorry?'

_Concentrate. Get it together._

Grinning, Molly bit her lip, as though she was trying hard not to giggle. Greg was mortified. Completely embarrassing. He felt himself slowly cringing inside, his heart thumping against his chest at the sight of her. Having the decency to blush, he dropped his gaze, staring at the freshly scrubbed lino floor.

'Shit, I am so sorry, Molly. That was really… I…'

And into his vision came her sensible lace ups and brown cord trousers, her white lab coat swinging gently. A soft finger under his chin and he lifted his eyes slightly, level with hers.

'I'm flattered. No one's ever been speechless at the sight of me.'

'You are? Uh… flattered, I mean.'

Nodding, she left her hand run along his cheek and rest against his temple. Greg closed his eyes at the warm feel of her fingers rubbing his skin. Standing so close, he was convinced Molly could hear the fast thudding of his heart.

'Very flattered.'

'You do look wonderful.' Allowing himself to reach a hand up nervously to the strands hanging over her cheeks, taking them tenderly between his fingers. 'Very lovely.'

'Thank you.'

_Ask her_

Deep breath. 'Molly, would you like… would you like to have dinner with me?'

Her eyes shone and she smiled, again biting her bottom lip. Oh, that was very sexy. Greg let his fingers drift from her cheek to her lips.

'I would love to.'

And taking his hand, Molly placed the softest of almost kisses on his fingers. Greg was pretty sure his heart had just jumped its way out of his chest.

* * *

**Written v. quickly for an anonymous tumblr prompt - _How about Greg taking a particular interest in Molly's new haircut? _ Minimal editing so please do excuse any mistakes! Many thanks for reading.**


	2. birds and bees

**birds and bees**

Closing the door softly behind him, Greg took a few careful, deep breaths. Molly was asleep now. He hated to see her upset; she could cope with illness, but morning sickness left her wrung out. The throwing up was just like it had been before; frequent and debilitating.

'Dad?'

A small hand grabbed his shirt, breaking into his thoughts. Feeling Anna pressing herself against his side, Greg smiled, the surge of affection for their daughter tugging at his heart. Kneeling down, he wrapped his arms around her, placing a long, loud kiss on the top of her head.

'What is it sweetie?'

Anna looked warily around him at the closed bedroom door. 'Was Mum sick again?'

'Yes, she was.'

Smoothing back her short chocolate brown hair, he studied her face. She looked worried, but also a tiny bit curious.

'Why? She was sick yesterday before you took me to school and she's sick now too.'

'Well…' And Greg paused.

Should he tell her now? Him and Molly had planned to tell Anna together; they hoped she would be excited by the news. Whenever John and Mary brought Harriet and George round to play, Anna was quite enraptured – two of them was a novelty to her as an only child. She'd even asked if Mum and Dad could get another baby to have around.

'Well, what?'

Knees protesting, Greg leaned back and plonked himself onto the floor. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he gathered Anna to him, arms tight around her.

'Well. You know how Uncle John and Aunty Mary have Harriet and George and you asked…'

Suddenly bouncing on his lap, Anna threw her arms around his neck. 'Are you going to get another baby?!'

He couldn't stop himself from grinning back as his daughter hugged him tightly. 'Yes, sweetie. Though it'll be Mum who'll be having the baby. When she's feeling better, she can tell you how.'

Pulling away from him, Anna shook her head. 'Oh, I know how you get a baby.'

'Do you?' Greg didn't remember having _that_ conversation with his daughter.

Anna nodded her head, quite assuredly. 'Of course. Everyone knows, silly. The baby grows in Mum's tummy for… a while and then she has to push it out. That's what Harriet told me. She said her Dad told her how it all happens 'cause she got to watch George being born and she said it was cool.' Quickly turning her head back to face him, Anna opened her eyes wider at her sudden thought. 'Can I watch the new baby being born? Please?'

Her energy was infectious and Greg found himself grinning. There was never a day when his daughter didn't amaze and surprise him. He'd always thought he wouldn't have children, not after his divorce. But when Molly asked him if he would like to try for children, he was pretty sure he'd hugged most of the air out of her.

'I don't see why not. Though, we should probably ask Mum if she'd be ok with it.'

'Yeah, we probably should. Harriet said her Mum screamed and swore a bit when George was coming out and Mum might not want me to hear swear words. Though, Uncle Sherlock says that you know quite a few good ones.'

'Does he?' Greg made a mental note to have a word with _Uncle_ Sherlock.

'Would you teach me them?' Anna looked so keen to learn.

'Maybe one day, when you're a lot older, Anna.' He brushed her hair off her face and tapped her nose. 'Just don't tell your Mum.'

'Cool.' And holding up her crossed fingers, she nodded. 'Promise.'

* * *

**Written quickly for anonymous tumblr prompt - _Greg has to explain to his little daughter while mummy is feeling sick lately. _I've not written Greg and Molly with children before, so something new for me. I've made Anna about 5-6 years old. Many thanks for reading.**


	3. dark locks and leathers

**dark locks and leathers**

Still no message. Molly stared down at her phone. It was definitely odd that he hadn't texted her in the past week; even if only to let her know that he was busy with work and would have to miss their regular Thursday night at the pub.

Sighing, she locked the screen and plopped her phone back into her bag. Hoisting it further up onto her shoulder, Molly let herself into 221B. The key had been John's idea; the more people who could keep an eye on Sherlock, the better.

As she shut the front door behind her, seeing the darkness behind Mrs Hudson's door, Molly started up the stairs; the shouting coming from his flat had probably driven his landlady next door again.

The sudden loud crash made her jump as she rounded the bend in the staircase.

'I said no, Sherlock. Are you deaf as well as stupid?! You are not bringing Molly into this.'

The low, rough voice made her heart stop. Greg? Now that didn't make sense. Why was he in London and ignoring her? And what was it that they weren't bringing her into? Mounting the final two steps, she pulled up suddenly at the open door into Sherlock's flat.

Oh, wow.

Ok, well, it was him, but it wasn't.

Molly stared, transfixed. He looked completely different… but still very much Greg. Dressed head to toe in bike leathers, she found her eyes following them as they hugged his thighs and the curve of his backside. Fit as well as handsome then.

But what really threw her was his hair. She'd only ever known him with his gorgeous silver hair; even when he'd first walked into her lab and gave her that disarming boyish smile of his, his hair been more silver than brown. She liked it, kind of charming and handsome.

But… bloody hell. Molly took a deep breath. Now his lovely locks were a deep, dark brown all over. And as much as she adored his silver hair, this colour was very sexy on him. Very.

With his eyes fixed angrily on Sherlock, Greg hadn't seen her yet; none of the men in the room had. John stood rigid by the fireplace, head in his hand, Mycroft sitting loftily in Sherlock's usual chair. And Sherlock, violin in hand, stared straight back at Greg across the other side of John's chair. Tension cracked between all of them; she'd obviously had walked in on something she shouldn't have.

Figuring she ought to let them know she was there, Molly cleared her throat as she leaned against the doorframe. Suddenly four pairs of eyes turned on her. Squirming slightly, she straightened and took a hesitant step into the room.

'You, um… you asked me to come over, Sherlock. Said it was urgent.'

Addressing her words to Sherlock, Molly found her eyes drifting back to Greg. He'd turned to face her, his arms dropping by his sides, his eyes… she wasn't sure what she was seeing in his eyes. Worry? Concern?

Throwing Greg a haughty look, Sherlock placed his violin down on the chair and walked over to her, putting an arm around her shoulders when he reached her.

Ok… Molly looked askew at him. Now she was definitely unsettled by events. Sherlock never put his arm around her.

'What is going on?' She looked from Greg to John to Mycroft to Sherlock. 'One of you tell me or I shall have to start using my imagination.'

A small laugh escaped Greg's lips and she snapped her eyes back to him. His head bent down, she saw his eyes quickly flick up at her, a tiny grin crossing his face. The butterflies dashed about inside her chest; Molly felt her heart stop and start a couple of times.

'Well, Sherlock?' Mycroft's imperious tone floated across the room.

Before he could say anything, Greg was suddenly striding across the room, bike helmet in one hand. He stopped an inch away from Sherlock, their faces almost touching. The younger Holmes stood gawping like a bewildered fish.

'Don't bother, Sherlock. Game's over.' Throwing a glare over his shoulder at the elder Holmes. 'I did what you and your brother asked. It's done, ok? Finished.'

What the hell was going on? Standing so near to Greg, hearing the old, worn leathers creak was confusing her. Too much going on, too many new sensations at the sight of him. Shaking her head, trying to clear the image of her snogging the life out of Greg in those leathers, Molly turned to Sherlock.

'Listen, whatever is going on, you can at least tell me why I dragged myself across London when I'd much rather be at home with a bottle of red and my feet up. Sherlock?' But he avoided her eyes. 'Fine, whatever. I'm going home. I'm too tired for this.'

Turning, her eyes giving Greg one last admiring look, she headed out the door and down the stairs. None the wiser about why she'd been summoned to Baker Street, Molly found her annoyance, her anger, her desire, her confusion all crashing around inside her head. She knew she'd have one hell of a headache by the time she made it home.

Stopping at the bottom of the stair case, her hand on the door knob, she drew in a long, slow breath. The sound of careful footsteps behind her and Molly turned, ready to give Sherlock a piece of her mind.

The words froze on her lips. Stood before her, Greg smiled shyly. His open leather jacket revealed a tight black tee shirt that skimmed over his chest. Molly knew she was staring but she couldn't stop. Finally seeing him in something other than those work suits was quite a lot to take in; not that she didn't like his new look.

And his hair.

Two slow steps towards her and Molly found herself closer to him then she'd ever been. Seeing his chest rising and falling, she was unable to stop her hand placing itself over his heart.

'Greg.' It came out as a whisper. 'What is going on?'

The warm hand on her cheek made her look up at him. And then she saw it – a thin red scar down his right cheek, half hidden by his scruffy stubble; two days old at the most going by the lack of healing.

'Oh, Greg, what happened, are you…'

'Shh.' Covering her hand with his as she reached out to touch the scar. 'A scratch. I'm fine. Listen, can I take you home? The bike's out front. I've a spare helmet.'

His bike? Molly stared, a little dumbfounded. He actually owned a motorbike and she never knew? That was…

And she suddenly realised that she had a thing for gorgeous older men in leathers on motorbikes. A thing she didn't even know she had until right then.

Squeezing her hand tightly, Greg leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her forehead. 'Let me get you home, open that bottle of red and I'll explain.'

'Everything?' Molly looked at his hand wrapped around hers. He must have been able to hear her heart thudding against her chest; she could definitely hear his.

'Everything.' And he backed up his promise with a soft kiss, his lips gentle against hers.

* * *

**Written quickly for tumblr prompt from kalemustang - _Since we did one with Molly's new haircut, how about the reverse with one for a Greg based off of Rupert's hair for Sacrifice? _ As I wrote it, the fic got a bit away from me and took on a life of its own! It's a bit longer than the others and I'm given it a brief couple of edits. Many thanks for reading! **


	4. comfort

**comfort**

The front door was ajar. Greg bounded up her front steps two at a time and straight into her hallway.

'Molly?'

Complete chaos greeted him - a little table had been upended, its contents scattered across the hallway; framed pictures smashed on the floor.

But where was she?

'Molly?'

Two steps further and his heart stopped. Sitting propped up against her sofa, head in her hands amid the chaos of her front room.

'Oh, god, Molly.'

And then he was beside her, his arm straight around her shoulders, letting her lean into him. Her head came to rest against his thumping heart, and his hand instinctively curled around her neck.

'It's ok, love.' Kissing the top of her head. 'Are you alright?'

He could feel her nod into his chest; but she was shaking. Feeling her hands slowly make their way around his waist, he moved closer, holding her tighter.

'Greg, I'm sorry.. I..'

'Don't be sorry, love.' Pulling back, he placed his hand under her chin, ever so gently lifting her face up. 'Oh bloody hell. What did he do?'

Her beautiful eyes were frightened; the cut across her cheek pulsed angrily. Molly looked down, shaking her head.

'It's not that bad, honest... doesn't hurt too much..I..' Drawing a shaky breath, she withdrew her hands from around him. 'He had a knife.. Jim...he just appeared in the hallway.. I don't know how he...'

'Hey, it's ok now.' Leaning back in, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. 'He's gone?'

'I just hit him with... with the chair and he.. and he ran out.. I..' Her voice stuttered as she tried to calm her breathing.

'Shh, Molly.' Another kiss to her forehead, he slowly stroked her hair back. 'You're ok. Now, just let me have a look at this.'

Tucking the loose strands behind her ears, he tenderly placed his finger on the cut. And he smiled when Molly didn't flinch; god, she was incredible.

Up close the cut didn't look as nasty as he first thought. Not deep, just long, right across her cheek.

'There's a first aid kit in.. in the bathroom...' Molly turned her head back towards the hallway. '..just... over through there.'

Greg knew he'd need to let the FME look at her injuries, but cleaning it up would be ok. He dropped his hand onto hers, squeezing.

'I'll just go get it. You be ok?'

A small, weak smile crossed her lips, and Greg felt his stomach knot. Bloody hell, she was beautiful when she smiled. He knew why he'd fallen hard for this brave, intelligent woman.

'I will be. You're here.'

* * *

**A quickly written and edited fic based on a prompt from the lovely mollsstrade on tumblr - _always had a soft for spot for one of them being injured and the other one taking care of them. Especially when their relationship is fresh. _Many thanks for reading!**


	5. the reason why

**the reason why**

Just one more pint; he needed it. Between dancing with complete strangers and watching Molly and Tom in each other's arms, Greg was beginning to feel a bit sorry for himself. Ugh. Turning to head back to the bar, he suddenly came face to face with Molly. His heart jumped; she look so beautiful in that yellow dress.

'Hey there.' And she smiled, slipping an arm through his. 'Have you been avoiding me?'

'No.' Liar.

'Really?' Peering at him, Molly frowned, biting her lip. 'I'm not entirely sure I believe you.. oops!' Stumbling slightly, she grabbed at his arm, steadying herself. 'Sorry.. think I might have had bit too much to drink.'

'Nothing wrong with that.'

Definitely not when it meant she was pressing against his side, soft and warm. Feeling a tap on his arm, he looked down into her wide, brown eyes.

'Thank you, Greg. You're always so nice, always doing nice things. Like, in the lab, you always bring me coffee... thank you, for bringing me coffee.'

'You're welcome. Anything for you.'

And he knew he was staring, but he couldn't tear his eyes away; he was caught by her smile. As they held each other's eyes, Molly reached up to touch his cheek. And Greg knew he should stop it there.

'So, ah.. where's Tom?'

'Hmm? Tom? No idea.' Tightening her hold on his arm, Molly straightened herself up. 'You know, Tom doesn't bring me coffee. Flowers, yes. He brought me a box of chocolates once. Only once. But not coffee. You do. Though you don't bring me flowers or chocolates. Why not?'

If only he could bring her flowers; he'd do it every day if he could. 'We're friends. Tom's your boyfriend.. ah, I mean, fiancé.'

'Yes, he is. True. He's nice. You're nice, Greg. If you were my boyfriend, would you bring me flowers and chocolates?'

'What?..'

Greg felt his heart in his mouth. If he were her boyfriend? His eyes were drawn to her lips. And then he was reaching out to straighten the wilting corsage pinned to her dress, his fingers lingering against her shoulder.

'Flowers, chocolates, coffee, whatever you wanted.'

'Oh, how nice!' And she let her head rest back against him, her arm gently circling around his waist. 'Greg?'

'Hmm.'

'Why do you bring me coffee?'

Molly snuggled closer. Shit. He really ought to let her go, let her get back to Tom. Before Tom found them like this.

'Why? Well..um, because I like to. You work hard and I know you like coffee, so I.. I like to bring you coffee.' How stupid did he sound?

Her head was nodding on his arm. 'Is it because you like me?'

Bloody hell. He felt the breath rush out of him. What did he say to that? The truth? Yes, Molly was a little drunk and he wasn't sure how much she'd remember, but he'd say it anyway. Because he couldn't lie to her, she was too lovely to lie to.

'Yes. Because I like you, Molly.'

'Good, because I like you too Greg. Now,' And she pulled him round by his hand, 'dance with me!'

* * *

**An intriguing anon prompt! This made me think of an idea I had for Greg and Molly at the wedding but unable to use it.. until now! Many thanks for reading.**


	6. premature

**premature**

(Sexy, but not graphic. And a few swear words.)

Shit, shit, shit...

Dropping his head into his heads, Greg closed his eyes, wishing the bathroom floor would just swallow him up. Of all the things to happen, he really didn't expect that.

'Shit.'

Sitting upright, he scrapped his fingers through his hair. What was he supposed to do now? So totally mortifying. What would Molly think of him? What was she thinking right then, lying naked back in his bed while he hid in the bathroom.

Hauling himself up off the edge of the bath, Greg felt like banging his head against the closed door. He couldn't go back into the bedroom, he couldn't face it. How embarrassing. Well, at least it proved without a doubt how long it had been since he'd slept with someone. The sight and feel of Molly beside him, in his bed, and he hadn't been able to stop it.

Taking a deep breath, he stared at himself, naked, in the bathroom mirror. Well, that was it wasn't it; Molly wouldn't want to see him anymore.

'Greg?'

A soft tapping on the other side of the door startled him. Turning, he stared at it, trying to calm his breathing.

'Greg? Are you ok in there?'

'Yeah.. yeah, I'm fine.' Leaning against the door, he let his head drop till his forehead touched it. He'd go out there in a minute. Probably.

'You sure?'

No, not at all. He had to go back out there. No good trying to hide; it was done.

'Molly, look, I'm really sorry about... about what happened. I didn't... it's...'

'Greg, come out.' He heard a gentle thump on the other side, like she was leaning on the door just as he was. 'Please, love.'

And something in her voice he couldn't refuse. Stepping back, he reached for the handle, slowly turning it. As he pulled the door inwards his first sight was Molly, naked, her hair gracefully falling over her shoulders, not quite covering her breasts. Bloody hell, she was beautiful. And sexy and gorgeous and really rather lovely...

'Hey there.' And then she was wrapping her arms around him, her hands resting in the small of his back. And her lips on his cheek.

'Hey. I'm sorry...'

Her finger was pressed against his lips. 'Greg, it happens. Please don't let it get to you.'

'I just feel so stupid.'

'Greg Lestrade, look at me.'

Molly Hooper standing naked in front of him? He didn't want to look anywhere else. Her face, soft and concerned, her hands resting on his arms. He saw the smile start at the corners of her lips - still swollen and red from their rather long kiss on the sofa - and spread across her face.

'What?'

'You know what this means we need to do.' And she was grinning now, her hand snaking it's way along his arm and down his chest, down towards...

Oh.

'Fancy another go?' Molly winked and her hand started to reach lower.

Quickly grabbing her hand, Greg pulled her against him, and felt his desire kicking in. What he'd done to deserve this wonderful woman he wasn't sure, but he would never doubt her again.

'Go on, then.'

* * *

**A thought provoking anon prompt! I pondered what kind of story to write and decided to go with my idea for a sexy story. I don't write many of those and while it maybe an obvious response to the word 'premature', it gives me chance to explore (so to speak!) the relationship between Greg and Molly in as well as out of bed. Many thanks for reading.**


	7. nice surprise

**nice surprise**

'Hey Greg, thought your class was on Tuesday?'

As the instructor breezed past them, Molly turned to him, hands on her hips.

'Seriously? You already do a class here? You sneak!'

Grinning, he ran a hand over his hair, looking like a schoolboy who'd been caught out. Which, as far as Molly was concerned, he had been. He should have said as she babbled on yesterday about how great yoga was for stress and that he really ought to give it a go sometime. He'd had a whole day to tell her and he let her go on believing he was a novice!

'Yeah, sorry, should've said.' At least he had the decency to look sheepish.

'Yes, you should have.' Shaking her head, Molly hoisted her bag further up her shoulder. 'Well, you're going to have prove how good you are then.

'Ooo, I like a challenge.'

'Right.' Turning towards the changing room, she looked back over her shoulder at him. 'In class, on the mats, five minutes. Let's see what you're made of, Inspector.'

Raising his eyebrows, he grinned. 'You're on.'

And Molly tried to ignore the butterflies that dashed around her stomach at the sight of that wonderful smile of his.

* * *

Pulling on her soft, comfy trousers, Molly reached back to grapple with her hair. Well, it was sneaky of him; not telling her that he already took a yoga class at the same studio she did. And for letting her go on about it as they shared a coffee in the lab the day before. She felt foolish. And a bit cross, actually.

Letting the fabric band snap satisfyingly, she stretched her arms up, relishing the pull along her muscles.

So, he liked a challenge. She lunged forward. Right, time to show him then.

* * *

The room was nearly full when she stepped in through the doorway. Quickly scanning the small group, she couldn't spot him. Recognising most of her classmates, Molly smiled and greeted them as she made her way between the mats.

And then she pulled up suddenly.

'Hey Molly.'

He was grinning again. She hadn't recognised him out of his regulation suit. Reclining on the mat in front of her, in dark shorts and a tee, Greg looked completely different. A good, nice kind of different. His legs - tanned and toned - stretched out in front of him as he leaned back on his hands, the shorts hugging his thigh muscles. Actually, as Molly was discovering, he was rather well toned all over.

'So, are you going to join me?'

'Hmm?'

Damn. Caught staring at him, Molly cursed under her breath at her body's ability to blush so easily. Flustered, she plonked herself down onto the mat next to his.

'Of course.'

'Good.'

* * *

Molly couldn't help it; he was right there next to her, stretching, reaching, bending. As she kept sneaking glances at him from the corner of her eye, she saw him gracefully move his way through the poses.

That was the last thing she'd expected to describe the hard working, dedicated detective as - graceful.

When she should've been concentrating on her movements, on flowing from one to the next, she found her eyes just kept wandering across, catching his gorgeous legs angled in mid air, his arms lowering gently, those shorts stretching gently over his lovely backside...

His eyes suddenly found hers, and he winked.

Bugger! Her flow lost, her calm, still tree pose gone, she crumpled into an undignified heap on the mat. Hearing the soft laugh escape his lips, she threw him a dirty look as she tried to right herself. Annoyed, she turned her back on him.

Breathe, Molly Hooper, breathe.

* * *

Too agitated to shower, she quickly grabbed her towel from her locker. Scrubbing at her face, her arms, Molly wiped away the sweat. And her annoyance with herself; she shouldn't have let it get to her. As she rubbed hard along her arms, she saw his eyes - handsome, dark brown eyes, like melted chocolate - and his smile. She stopped.

Well, he probably didn't do it in a mean way; he wasn't the type, too nice. She'd just let it get to her - she'd never liked feeling foolish, thinking people were laughing at her. But they were adults, not teenagers, and he wouldn't have meant it like that. Not Greg.

As she changed back into her work clothes - slipping back into sensible, quiet Dr Hooper - she couldn't help the image of him on the mat popping into her head; his unexpected, toned, sexy physique, the hug of his shorts across his muscles...

And the image wasn't going away.

* * *

She couldn't miss him. That mop of silver hair sticking up everywhere - he'd obviously showered, his hair still wet, his skin glowing. Watching him as he made his way across the lobby of the studio, Molly tried to chase the image of what was beneath that suit from her mind. Not that she succeeded.

Slowing down, Greg stopped a few steps from her, his hands gripping the strap of his bag.

'Hey.' His eyes soft, his smile shy, he stayed where he was.' Listen, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't've laughed. That was rude of me.'

Molly felt the smile tug at her lips. He was so handsome like this - unsure, hesitant. What other sides were there to Greg Lestrade that she didn't know about? Clearing her throat, Molly closed the gap between them.

'No, it's ok, I'm sorry. I was being stupid. I just felt a bit foolish when I found out you already come here. Shouldn't have gotten into a huff.'

His hand reached out, and rested lightly on her arm. 'Sorry about that. I should've said from the beginning.' Then he was smiling brightly again, his hand squeezed her arm gently. 'Hey, listen to the pair of us. You think we're meant to keep on misunderstanding each other?'

And Molly felt herself drawn back into his rather incredible eyes. This lovely man standing remorsefully in front of her, touching her, was just too much to resist.

'I hope not.' Taking hold of his hand.

Leaning forward, he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. 'Me neither.'

* * *

**Thank you kalemustang for the prompt -_ what if Molly tried to drag Greg to go with her to a yoga class, only to find out that not only is Greg a regular but also very surprised to see how "bendy and flexible" he really is._**

**I know almost nothing about yoga, but did a little bit of very quick research and came up with an idea. A little longer than I planned, it turned into something sweet (with an eyeful of sexy and a smidge of fluff.) Many thanks for reading.**


	8. moonlight

**moonlight**

The cool evening air wrapped itself around her, goose bumps tickling along her arm.

'Hey, you're shivering.'

And she felt the smooth fabric of his jacket draping around her shoulders, warm against her arms; his smell enveloped her - woody aftershave, coffee, a hint of cigarettes.

'Thank you.'

Rapid heartbeats echoed through her body. She was a fool.

'You're welcome.'

And his hand brushed along the back of her neck. Her heart stopped. Turning, pivoting on the hard stone of the garden wall, she looked at him. The moon cast a soft light across his face, a shadow fell over him. His pale blue shirt muted in the dark made him seem almost ghost like.

Were they really there? Was she folded into his jacket? Was his hand caressing her neck? Sitting together, away from everyone else, it felt almost surreal. The music was a faint, unintelligible sound drifting across the wide empty garden. No one else had come this far along the path. They were alone.

She closed her eyes, his touch gentle and wonderful against her skin.

'Oh.. shit, I'm sorry, Molly…'

Hearing his quick intake of breath, his hand was gone. Her skin ached where his fingers had been softly stroking. His head turned away, she couldn't read his expression. Why had he stopped?

She reached across and took his hand back, drawing it slowly into her lap, caressing his fingers. She loved his hands - strong, solid, beautiful hands. The way they'd rested against her back as they'd stood for all those photographs, how they'd held hers as they'd danced.

She really had been a fool.

'Molly?' Low and rough, his voice tugged at her heart.

'Greg, I…'

Words wouldn't do. Looking back up into his handsome face, she knew she couldn't speak it. All she knew she could do was press her lips to his. And feel his respond, longingly. His arms were pulling her into him, the heat from his body making her want him closer. She wanted to stay there; stay there with him and never stop kissing him.

* * *

The swish of the door caught her attention. Looking across from the blood analyser, her heart jumped. She stayed still. He was stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. Unsure. His eyes held hers, then looked away. Hesitant silence filled the gap between them.

'Hi Greg.'

Putting down the tray of samples tubes, she removed her safety glasses.

'Hey Molly.' He stayed by the door.

Walking the few steps towards him, she held his eyes. She had to do this. Three days since they'd kissed. Three days since she'd put her arms around his neck, since his hands had held her close into him as they carried on kissing. Three days since Tom had rounded the corner and discovered them.

Stopping in front of him, she reached out and took his hand. He didn't pull back.

'Molly, I'm sorry. About what happened. I shouldn't have…'

'I kissed you, Greg.'

'And I should have stopped.'

'Why?'

Dropping her hand, he leaned back against the door frame. He closed his eyes, running a beautiful hand over his face. 'Because I can't have you.'

Aching at the pain in his voice, she gently lifted his fingers from his face.

'I kissed you.' Letting her hand rest on his cheek, stubble rough on her palm. 'I kissed you because I wanted to, because I've wanted to for a while. Because it's not Tom I'm in love with.'

Feeling his hand catch hers back, his body turning towards her, she looked straight into his eyes; she knew her feelings were there for him to see.

His head slowly began leaning down towards hers. 'Molly?' The question was in his eyes.

'Greg, I'm not sorry I kissed you.'

'No?'

His forehead touched hers. She closed her eyes as her feelings raced across her heart.

'No.'

A soft brush against her lips. Opening her eyes, she smiled at his gorgeous face. And then his arms encircled her waist, slowly pulling her into him. Warm and strong.

And neither of them cared if anyone found them this time.

* * *

f**or the prompt - _Greg is sorry about what happened at the wedding, but Molly isn't_. ****So many ways to do this one - I've gone for a slightly different style as an experiment. I love the idea of Molly knowing what she wants and going for it. Many thanks for reading.**


	9. anything to protect her captain

**anything to protect her captain**

a space rebels AU - swearing throughout, including the f word

* * *

'Captain!'

His body fell with a sickening thud. The blast had knocked him out. Molly knew just by looking at him he wasn't dead. That was her job, and she had no intention of him dying. Not before… anyway, more important things to think about. Another blast hit the wall by her head; just to remind her they were still sitting targets.

'Shit.'

Cover. She had to find cover. A quick look told her the best retreat would be the small bay off the corridor. The old Sigma class freighters had too many wide corridors but plenty of hiding places.

'Ow.. fuck it.'

Pain smacked into her shoulder; the last blast had flashed off the wall, side swiping her. She'd had worse. Ducking her head down, slinging the blaster across her back, Molly grabbed the Captain under his arms.

'Come on, sir, out of sight for… shit!… a while.'

Bumping his body backwards over the door frame, Molly gently laid him down against the back wall of the tiny cubicle. She'd never figured what these little cubby holes had been for, but then she'd never spent long enough on a freighter to find out. Rolling his body onto his side, hands forward, into the recovery position just in case. Two quick shots outside made her jump.

'Ok, ok. Give me a second. Stupid Federal Guards.'

Grabbing at her blaster, pulling it forward, she leaned out the door - no sign of them - and blasted off three replying shots. And then quickly pulled her head back in. As stupid as they were, she reckoned they'd soon figure there was just two of them, and one of them was out cold.

At least her communicator was still working. 'Hudson?' Holding down the send button, Molly tried contacting their pilot. 'Hudson!?'

'Hooper? Where are you?'

More blasts outside in the corridor; Molly stuck the blaster end out and let off a quick round of fire.

'Hooper? Watson said he'd lost you two.' Slight edge of panic to her voice.

'We're still on board the freighter. Captain's down. We're cornered. We need…'

'Oh, my dear. Right, hang in there. I'll just get Watson to…'

Three more blast interrupted. Molly lifted up her blaster.

'Seriously, one thing at a time!' she shouted as she returned their fire.

'Hooper, dear!'

Molly brought her communicator back up to her mouth. 'Yes, still here.'

'Watson and Donovan are on their way back in.'

Now there was something you didn't see every day; the two sergeants together.

'What, no Sherlock?'

More blasts hit the wall opposite. Shit, where did they come from? Guards on both ends of the corridor was not something she needed right then.

'Ha, could you imagine it! No Sherlock. Hold tight, Hooper.'

'No other way, Hudson. Out.'

Both hands now free, she fired off a quick round of blasts; aiming at the wall opposite, hoping the angle would deflect the blasts down both sides. Now there was something they didn't teach you in Medic Training. Checking the energy pack - three quarters charged - Molly fired off another round, for good measure.

'Oww, what the.. bloody hell.'

Oh, that rough voice behind her made her heart leap. So good to hear it.

'Captain.' Turning, as much as she could in their confined space, she reached a hand under his head. 'You're back.'

'Where'd I go?'

'Not far, though with you.. duck!… with you, I never know.' More blasts hit the wall just outside the door. 'Hang on.'

Half sitting up, he looked groggy but alive; Molly took her hand away, turning to fire another round of blasts. She could feel him behind her trying to sit up, his heavy boot pressing into her back.

'Damn it, Hooper, why does my bloody head hurt. And why the bloody hell are we stuck in a cupboard?'

Laughing, she leaned back against him, reaching her hand round to gently place a finger on the red, swollen blast wound on his temple.

'Welcome back, Captain Lestrade.' She applied light pressure to the wound. Only surface scarring. 'Ricochet blast, sir. Sent you down like a log.'

'Bollocks, I…'

Several blasts crashed against the wall by the door. Molly stuck her blaster out, letting rip.

'So, we're trapped.'

'Temporarily sir.' She turned back to him. 'I hope.'

'Back up?' His fingers gingerly exploring the wound.

'On its way.' She pushed his hand away from his head, ignoring the heat of his fingers under hers.

'You hope.'

'Yes, I hope.' Groping in her jacket pocket, she located the emergency pack. 'Let me see to that, sir.'

Reaching up to the red mark, letting her fingers gently trace it, she felt him flinch.

'Sorry sir, I'll just put.. shit!'

Feeling the heat of the blasts rush past her, she pulled the Captain's head down, shielding him. As the blasts smacked into the back wall, she leaned back out the door, returning fire.

'Hooper, give me the blaster.'

'Sir, I…'

'Do it, Hooper.'

'You're injured. I need to see to your wound.'

'You can't do both.'

'Sir..'

'I'm the Captain. I'm the one who looks after my crew, including my Medic…bollocks!'

A quick round of blasts against the corridor wall.

'Damn it, Molly, get behind me.'

Grabbing her by the waist, he pulled her out of the doorway, their sides pressing close together. Molly felt his muscles as he shifted her past him, his hands gripping her sides tight.

'I'm not losing you any time soon, Hooper.'

As his eyes looked back into hers, she saw it. Locked together for a few seconds, they stared at each other. She'd never realised. How long? Bloody hell, if she'd known, she never would've wasted all that time waiting. Greg turned away first, returning blaster fire as Molly felt herself pushed back against the wall.

'Oww, bollocks, damn it…'

'Greg!' She pulled him back, letting him collapse into her lap. He looked up at her, his lovely brown eyes in pain.

'Now will you let me do my job, sir?'

Carefully, she placed the anaesthetic pad against the wound. He watched her, eyes following her hands as she took another pad, applying it next to the first.

'That'll take the edge off the pain. Best I can do till we get back on board.'

As she moved her hand back, he stopped her. Fingers firmly holding hers, Greg brought her hand to his lips. A soft kiss on her palm.

'Thank you, Molly.'

Finally. Brushing back the ragged strands of silver hair from his face, she bent down, letting her lips press against his forehead. And then his head was tilting back and she felt his lips catch at hers.

Gods, it was just as wonderful, even upside down, as she'd hoped; all those times she'd spent daydreaming about kissing him, and touching him, and there they were. Under fire, awaiting rescue, stuck in a what probably was a broom cupboard. His hand caught itself in her hair, tugging at the band that held her ponytail back; she grinned against his lips.

'Ah-hmm.'

Startled, they quickly broke apart, guiltily looking up.

'Nice to see you've recovered, Captain.' Donovan, with two dead guards at her feet, smiled. 'About bloody time you two, the sexual tension was killing us. Now, can we get off this heap of junk please.'

* * *

**I had fun with this prompt - _protection_. For some reason I was inspired to write an AU with Greg and Molly as space rebels (think Star Wars / Firefly / Blakes 7!) - hope you enjoy reading Captain Lestrade and Medic Hooper.**


	10. intermezzo

_**intermezzo**__\- a light dramatic, musical, or other performance inserted between the acts of a play._

* * *

What time was it?

Lifting his arm up, Greg squinted at the dial; gone 5. He hadn't slept. Would anyone sleep after the night they'd had? An urgent call from Sherlock - _bring a gun_ \- a mad dog and a mad scientist, forest chase in the dark, exploding mines. it was 2.30am by the time the army and police had let them leave the scene.

Closing his eyes, he felt the desperate tiredness clutching away at him. But he couldn't sleep. Light found its way in through the curtain. The pillows felt soft beneath his head, but his body couldn't unwind. He didn't much fancy the drive back to London on no sleep; he'd have to get Mycroft to sort another couple of days clearance.

Better call him then. Picking up his phone from the bedside table, Greg scrolled though his contacts list.

_Molly_

Pausing, his finger hovering over her name. And then he pressed call. Four rings.

'Greg?'

'Hi. Sorry, I know it's early and all, I just wanted...'

What had he just wanted? Why had he just called the pathologist at 5am on a Friday morning?

'Greg, are you ok?'

Her voice, soft, worried, tumbled into his still-wired brain.

'Yeah, sorry... sort of. Look, I shouldn't have called you so early.'

'Of course you should have. You sound exhausted. Where are you?''

'Dartmoor.'

'Dartmoor? Is this to do with Sherlock?'

'Yeah. Mycroft made me.'

A gentle laugh on the other end. 'He does that, doesn't he.'

Smiling, Greg closed his eyes. 'You can't really say no to a Mycroft Holmes request... listen, you sure this is ok? I didn't wake you, did I?'

'You did, but it's ok..'

'Oh, shit, I'm sorry Molly, I just.. I was going to call Mycroft and then I saw your number and I just pressed it and...' He stopped. That just sounded a bit.. desperate. 'I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. Sorry.'

Silence on the other end.

'Molly?'

Ok, he'd freaked her out. That probably was the completely wrong thing to say, now what would she think of him. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Greg kicked the bed end. Idiot.

'Greg... can I ask you something?'

She was still there. His heart missed a couple of beats; he could guess what she was going to say. 'Anything, Molly.'

He heard her intake of breath, he could picture her biting her lip in that sweet, sexy way of hers. Stop it, he mentally kicked himself.

'Have you and your wife... have you..' She hesitated.

Pushing away the pain snapping at his heart, Greg took a deep breath. He hadn't told anyone, though no doubt Sherlock and John would've noticed the absence of his wedding ring.

'We've separated. I haven't really told anyone.. didn't want to have go into details and all that...'

'Oh, I'm so sorry, Greg.'

'It's ok. Really. I don't mind talking with you about it.' Smiling, he felt the pain chipping off as he pictured her (in bed?) back in London. Her gentle voice was reaching into the corners of his mind, and his body. 'I like talking to you.'

'Bad day?'

'Bad night. Insane, basically. Listen, I better let you go. Sorry I woke you up.'

'Don't be. If you ever need to talk, I'm happy to listen.'

Feeling the lightness in his chest, Greg let the thought steal back into his mind. Molly Hooper in that black dress had stirred something in him, feelings that he shouldn't be having. But there was something rather calming and lovely and incredible about her. He couldn't help it. Was he falling for her?

'Thanks Molly. You're rather brilliant, you know that.'

'Oh.. thank you, Greg. Now, you get some sleep, you sound like you need it.'

'I'll have to call Mycroft first, get him to clear me a couple more days off.'

'And then, sleep.'

'Promise. Thanks, Molly.'

'You're welcome. Listen, when you're back, did you want to...' She paused. Greg let himself hope. 'We could grab a drink, after work, if you wanted to.'

'I'd like that.'

He would more than like that; a chance to be alone with Molly Hooper.

'Great...ok, well, take care, Greg. And sleep.'

'I will! Bye, Molly.'

'Bye.'

A few hours of sleep later, Greg woke, smiling, phone still in his hand.

* * *

**An interesting little challenge from the lovely mollsstrade ! Had a bit of a think about this one and was drawn to a quiet shared moment between Greg and Molly after the intensity of Baskerville. Many thanks for reading!**


	11. missing the signs

**missing the signs **

Laughter echoed along the hallway; the others were still at their game of Cluedo in John and Mary's front room. Molly smiled at the sound, taking another sip of her fresh made coffee. Closing her eyes, she relished the hit of proper caffeine.

'Thanks for this, Greg.' Opening her eyes, she held the small cup aloft. 'You make the best coffee.'

Turning from where he was adding milk to his, Greg smiled. 'You're welcome. My coffee's ok. Now, my mum, she's the expert.'

Rejoining her at the small table, tucked into a corner of the tastefully decorated kitchen, their elbows bumped as he pulled his chair closer in. Molly held her breath at his touch, shivers racing up her arm.

Seriously, she had to say something. It was just the two of them, sitting, chatting. Everyone else had stayed in the front room, deliberately. Mary's encouraging words, and warm hug, had fortified Molly's resolve; John'd manoeuvred Greg into the kitchen with promises of coffee. If Greg'd noticed John hadn't returned from checking that Sherlock hadn't hurled the Cluedo board, he didn't say anything.

'So, you learned it all from her.' Molly took another sip, looking at him over the top of her cup.

He was so handsome. Beautiful deep brown eyes, mop of gorgeous silver hair, and his smile - that disarming, school boy grin that made her heart jump every time. Combine those sexy looks with his decent, honest, caring nature and Molly had fallen for him, hard.

'Yep.' He grinned.

She put her cup down on the table. Right, she had to do this. Whatever Greg thought of her, he'd never said, never made a move. The coffee he brought to the lab for her, the flowers on her birthday and the books for Christmas, generous hugs and listening whenever she needed to talk - if they didn't mean that he felt for her the same as she felt for him, then what?

'Greg, can I...'

'Hmm?' He stopped, cup half way to his mouth.

Molly stared at his lips. Resisting the desire to lean forward and kiss him, she clutched her coffee cup tightly.

'Can I ask you something?'

Putting his cup down, he leaned his chin on his hand. 'Of course.'

Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the table, running a finger across the dark, swirling knot in the wood.

'This'll probably sound stupid, but I just wanted to say it. You know, I...'

The terrified feeling grabbing at her stomach stopped her. Was this really such a good idea? Maybe he did only think of her as a friend; maybe they were all wrong - her, Mary, Mrs Hudson, Sherlock, John - about how Greg felt for her.

'Molly?'

His hand was covering hers and he moved closer. That earthy woody aftershave, the one that made her skin tingle whenever she smelt it on him, floated around her.

This was ridiculous.

'How do you feel about me?' She blurted it out and then quickly looked back down at the table. 'I mean.. that is.. I've never been completely sure but I always thought that you liked me.. I hoped that... I'm sorry.'

Silence stretched between them. Not good. Not feeling overly brave, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. Greg stared at her, his hand still resting warmly on hers.

'Listen, I'm sorry.. I don't mean anything... forget I said it.' Pushing back her chair, shakily taking her hand from under his, she stood up.

'Wait.'

Heat raced up her back - his hand was on her waist, gentle pressure making her knees a little weak. Meeting his eyes, the look she saw made her heart stop.

'Please, stay.' That rough, sexy edge in his voice.

Slowly sitting back down, she felt his arm pressed against her, their knees touching. Greg's eyes locked onto hers.

'How do I feel about you?... Molly Hooper, I'm mad about you. You're such a wonderful, incredible woman. But...'

He liked her. Grabbing hold of the table edge, Molly tried to calm the feelings rushing about her body.

'But?'

'But.. you like Sherlock. I could always see that it was him you really liked, not me.'

'Sherlock?' He started at the incredulous tone in her voice, Molly reached over and took his hand. 'I.. I did like him, foolish over him really. But.. since he came back and everything that happened, I knew I didn't care for him like that. And then the whole thing with Tom...'

His hand squeezed hers tightly. Responding, she moved closer, close enough to lean against him; Greg tightened his arm around her waist.

'Molly, I'm sorry about you and Tom.'

'He was too nice for me to do that to him...I feel so bad about it.. ' Her voice caught in her throat.

'Oh hey.'

And Greg was pulling her right into him. The warmth of his body, the strength in his arms; Molly wanted to just stay right there.

'It's you I care about Greg, I have for a while. I just couldn't bring myself to say anything... I tried to let you know.. the things I did..'

A hand under her chin and she was looking straight back into his eyes. Bloody hell. His intense gaze made her stomach drop.

'I've been an idiot Molly. You're always there, always so kind and lovely to me and I've just been completely blind to it, haven't I. I'm so sorry.'

And then his lips were on hers and Molly thought her whole body would just melt onto the floor.

'Apology accepted.' Whispering against his cheek as they came up for air.

He was one rather good kisser too.

* * *

**Thank you redrickard for this prompt!**

_**Greg is really taken with Molly and she feels the very same for him. Unfortunately, Greg doesn't catch the signs from Molly and actually thinks she's still interested in Sherlock. Molly hasn't been in love with Sherlock for ages and everyone knows it except Greg. **_

**I've gone for some pure and simple romantic fluff - sometimes it's just what we need! Molly wants Greg and she decides to let him know. **


	12. pyjamas

**pyjamas**

Molly kept sneaking glances over at him. She really hadn't expected him to agree and now she was wondering whether asking him had been such a good idea.

Quickly moving her eyes back to her book in front of her - to the page she'd been 'reading' for the last five minutes - she squashed herself further into the armchair. Hoping it hadn't been obvious that she'd been looking at him.

As he turned, the remote controls held out in front of him, he grinned. God, he had such a gorgeous smile; Molly felt her stomach go all funny.

'Sorry, which one's which?'

'Oh, right.' Pushing herself up, Molly pointed to the remote in his left hand. 'TV's that one.'

'Cheers.' Turning back to the flatscreen, Greg peered at the remote, shoving his glasses back up his nose.

And Molly found herself once again, taking him in. The loose dark tee and the long grey pyjama trousers that left everything to the imagination. Though he could hardly wander around her house with nothing on. If he was the type to sleep naked.

Exhaling at the image that popped into her mind, Molly slipped further back down in her armchair, bringing the book up to cover the blush creeping across her face. Only the second evening and already she was staring at him, thinking about what was underneath his pyjamas. It really hadn't been a good idea to offer Greg her spare bedroom while his house was being fumigated. But then, when he'd looked forlorn at the idea of having to spend the week in a hotel, she'd felt sorry for him and impulsively invited him to stay at hers.

'Molly?' His sexy, rough voice broke into her thoughts.

'Hmm?'

Keeping the book in place, knowing that her face was turning even redder as she couldn't shift the image of Greg Lestrade naked in her front room. Which he most definitely wasn't! Naked, that is. But he was there, in her front room, dressed in the most unrevealing pyjamas. Even the trousers clinging to his bottom (she was pretty sure they would be doing that) were hidden by the tee shirt.

Lost in her thoughts, she jumped as her book started to lower, and she came face to face with Greg, his hand on the top of her book, his eyes looking straight into hers. With his glasses on he looked even more handsome.

'You ok?' His brow furrowed.

'Sorry... yes.. I'm fine..' Flustered at his closeness, his stare, Molly hauled herself up in the chair.

He seemed to consider her answer, his head tilting slightly to one side, which Molly had always found so lovely.

'Ok.' Moving round, he settled himself on the arm of the chair, his thigh brushing her arm. 'Fancy a cuppa?'

Feeling the rush of warmth along her skin, Molly nodded. 'That'd... be lovely, thank you.'

And it would be - Molly had discovered the night before that Greg made really good tea. Which was unusual for someone who loved coffee as much as he did. Hidden depths.

'Earl Grey or Darjeeling?'

'Oh, Earl Grey please.'

'No problem.' Pushing himself up off the arm of her chair, he paused. 'Molly..'

Looking up from the book, which she'd given up trying to read, she found his eyes again looking straight at her. Her heart jumped, and she felt her cheeks flame. God, why was she so incapable of keeping her feelings for him hidden?

'We can..' He hesitated, suddenly shy. 'We can sit on the sofa, together, if you like.'

'Oh.. I..'

'I mean, only if you want to. I just thought it'd be nice.' A small smile playing across his lips.

Was he..? His eyes dropped, staring at a spot on the floorboards. And Molly was sure there was a touch of pink in his cheeks. Oh.

'I'd like that.'

Looking up, he grinned. 'Yeah?'

Molly nodded. And then suddenly he was back beside her chair, kneeling down so their faces were level. 'Can we hold hands?'

Nodding again, she couldn't help smiling as her heart stumbled. 'Definitely.'

* * *

**Written for the prompt - **_**opaque + nightwear**_**. Just a bit of lovely MollyXGreg fluff. Sometimes it's just what we need. :) Many thanks for reading!**


	13. hand and heart

**hand and heart**

(swearing, including the f-word)

...

It wasn't supposed to have taken this long but then with Sherlock in tow, everything always took longer. One day, Molly would just leave him behind. If they got to that day. First priority right then, as they hid themselves from the searchlights and cameras was to get back across the wasteground and in through the fence, before the night curfew sounded.

'Where is he?'

The rough voice in her ear made her jump. She turned to see Lestrade, blaster aimed forward, standing beside her.

'Still inside.'

Molly adjusted the heavy canvas bag she held tight to her chest. They'd taken one hell of a chance, not knowing whether Mary's information had been correct. There might have been the vital supplies they needed, there might not have been. It'd been enough of a risk getting outside the perimeter fence and into the Warehouse; now they had to get back through carrying the stolen supplies. Waiting for Sherlock was not going to help.

'Why?' His eyes didn't stop looking about him.

Lestrade was always alert; at least with him, Molly knew she'd probably get back to Barts alive. She trusted him, completely. When a guy puts himself between you and a pathological maniac with a gun, you trusted him.

'Looking around. At least that's what he said.'

'Bloody idiot.' His eyes caught hers. 'When the lights hit the building, we go, with or without him. You ok with that?'

They only had one chance to get back across the stretch of ground that was between them and the city fence. Weeks of watching, of sitting inside the abandoned workhouse opposite the hidden break in the wire, Lestrade and Molly had worked out the regular pattern of the searchlights and the movements of the cameras. If Mycroft was doing his job properly, those would be down at just the moment when the lights swung away from their path back to the fence. And that would be their only chance. Molly knew how much time it took to get from their position by the Warehouse wall to the fence and back undercover before curfew sound.

Watching the lights - now moving along the ruined wall, turning to sweep across the expanse of concrete - Molly knew exactly how long they had. One and a half minutes. If Sherlock wasn't back, they would go without him.

'Molly?'

She looked straight up into his eyes; he was leaning forward, his face level with hers. In the darkness, with only flashes of light from behind the wall, Lestrade's eyes looked almost black. She'd seen them enough times in the daylight, working together across the laboratory table, to know that his eyes were the most wonderful deep, dark brown. And that she often would find herself getting lost in them; something which she knew she had to stop doing. Inspector Lestrade, the official title he used when they were pretending not to be Subversives to the Regime, wouldn't have returned her feelings anyway. In the middle of a messy, drawn out divorce, the last thing he'd be thinking about was her.

'Yes. I'm ok with that.' She turned away from him. There was no choice but to be ok with it. 'Sherlock's got one minute. He knows.'

Hearing his intake of breath, Molly waited. But whatever Lestrade had been going to say, he'd changed his mind. A gentle hand on her shoulder sent a shiver through her, making her stomach swoop. The effect his touch had on her worried Molly; what if he ever found out about her feelings for him? Lestrade didn't - he couldn't - like her in that way.

Focusing her attention back on the searchlights, she saw them make a sweep past the far end of the fence. 40 seconds.

'Bloody hell, Sherlock, get a move on.' Lestrade stepped forward and Molly felt his arm brush against her.

30 seconds. She pushed the feel of his body beside her into the back corner of her mind. Later. If they got back alive.

'Sherlock...'

The urgency in her whisper made Lestrade reach back and grasp her hand. And she held on tight; she was not going to lose him on their run back across the wasteland and in through the fence. She could keep up with him; she just wanted to feel his hand in hers and know he wouldn't let go.

20 seconds.

The lights passed by them on the other side of the wall. Her heart beat faster, reaching up into her throat. And she started counting down in her head. Clutching the bag tighter, her hand ran along the strap that went over her shoulder and around her side. It was secure. Feeling the warmth of Lestrade's hand gripping hers, she watched him pull the black cap further down, covering his silver hair.

A moment to catch her breath, then she felt him tug her hand. And she ran. Her arm felt like it was going to be pulled from its socket but she kept running. Cracks and dips and loose concrete under her feet but she kept running. The fence got closer, the lights had swung to the opposite direction and they were sprinting through blackness.

15, 16, 17, 18... she counted as her feet hit the ground.. 19, 21..

Was that a sound behind them? She couldn't turn to look. All she could feel was the ground pounding beneath her feet and Lestrade's hand gripping hers. She focused on his hand.

24, 25, 26..

It'd been 30 steps, 30 strides from the fence to the Warehouse. The noise behind her increased; she felt someone there. And she hoped, god did she hope, that it was Sherlock.

..29,30.. the fence appeared in front of them. His hand let go of hers and Lestrade was pulling back the false panel of wire.

'Go.' A hand on her back, his touch urgent through her jacket. '..for fuck sake Sherlock!.. you bloody bastard'

She was falling, tumbling over something and found herself flat on the ground, a panting, grinning Sherlock lying next to her.

'Don't you ever fucking do that again!' Lestrade was hauling him up, shoving him to one side as he knelt down beside her. 'Molly? You ok?'

Her heart, still beating out of control from their run, tumbled inside her chest. The low, rough, sexy voice did that to her every time; even when they'd just run for their lives. His hands were gripping her arms, pulling her gently upright.

'Yeah, I'm ok, just tripped.'

And then he was helping her up, hands careful and strong on her waist. 'You sure?' Brushing her hair back, he held her face.

Molly felt her knees wobble. Probably the adrenalin, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. Lestrade was looking at her, intensely; even in the darkness she could see the look on his face.

'Curfew's about to sound, I suggest we get under cover.'

Sherlock's calm, quiet tone cut into her mind; the moment broken, Lestrade dropped his hands. Molly felt her cheeks burning where he'd touched them.

'Through here.'

And Lestrade made his way down the side of the nearest building, the same one they'd staked out the searchlights from. Molly knew where he was headed. Once they found the door, he had it opened in seconds and they were in.

Safe. As she closed her eyes and tried to slow down her breathing, the curfew sound started. The alternating low and high pitched wail made her shudder. She'd had nightmares about that sound.

'Hey.'

His voice was right in front of her. Opening her eyes, Molly found herself looking into his kind, handsome face. A smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her heart stumbled over itself.

Smiling, Molly's voice stuck in her throat. Something about the feel of his hand in hers and his eyes looking straight into her.

'You ok?'

Nodding, she gripped his hand tighter. 'Thank you.'

'Thank you.' And his fingers gently rested on her cheek. 'You knew exactly what supplies to take. You were brilliant.'

'I was?'

'Yes.'

And he brought her hand up to his lips, placing a lingering kiss on her fingers. Molly blushed; Lestrade grinned. Even Sherlock huffing in the background couldn't stop her leaning forward to brush a light kiss across Lestrade's cheek.

'You were pretty amazing, too.'

Whatever it all meant, Molly would think about it in the morning. Greg Lestrade was putting his arms around her and hesitantly looking down at her lips. And she was moving in to press them softly against his.

* * *

**Thank you to he lovely mollstrade for the prompt - _boundaries + curfew_. I had a lot of fun writing this one - it kind of got away from me and turned into a not-quite-quick-fic. My second go at a dystopian AU, I think I might be getting the hang of it! Many thanks for reading.**


	14. new shoes

**new shoes**

'Seriously Greg, it has to be done.'

Forlornly held between her thumb and finger was the sad relic of one of his pair of second best work shoes .

'Must I?'

Holding the coffee mug protectively in front of him, his toast forgotten on the plate, Greg looked at the dismal left shoe. God, he hated shopping. Even the patient and calm presence of his new wife couldn't alter his loathing of the rigmarole of buying clothes.

'Yes, mister.' Molly turned the shoe over to reveal the worn-thin sole. 'There's only so much that polish can hide.'

'Umfph...' Letting his head drop, Greg ran a hand through his hair. 'Can we go tomorrow, I really wanted to start...'

'No.'

'But I promised Sally I'd...'

'No.' And she was beside his chair, shoe dangling between them, the threadbare laces making him feel guilty.

Looking up, Greg caught the little smile that crossed Molly's lips. That light, happy feeling raced over his heart; he still couldn't believe that she'd ever agreed to go out for that coffee with him, let alone marry him two years later.

'See, thing is..' And he gently slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her warm body closer to him. '... if we went tomorrow then we'd have a bit of time to ourselves tonight.'

As her hand rested on his chest, soft over his heart, Molly leaned her head down towards his, bringing their eyes level. She had such gorgeous dark brown eyes; he could stare into them for hours.

'Well, yes, I guess we could have a little time to ourselves...' Her lips brushed tenderly against his cheek, her voice a whisper in his ear. '...if you fancy shagging while we're babysitting.'

'Oh, bugger!'

Molly laughed as she pulled back from him, dropping his shoe into his lap. He'd completely forgotten they were off round John and Mary's that evening. Seriously, he was getting worse.

'Tell you what, handsome.' And Molly was running her fingers through his hair. 'Shoe shopping this morning, babysitting tonight and if you're really good, maybe a lie in tomorrow.'

'A lie in, you say?'

Taking her hand, Greg brought it up to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on her fingers. He loved their Sunday morning lie ins - coffee, toast, and slow, happy sex.

'Yes.' Bringing her face back down to his, she kissed him, her lips longingly pressed to his. And then she was grabbing his hand, hauling him up off the dining chair, the shoe clattering to the floor. 'Now, Inspector, less snogging, more shopping!'

* * *

**For anon prompt - _Greg needs a new pair of shoes._ Though Greg's always well turned out, I have this idea that he hates clothes shopping, so he needs a little encouragement. Short and sweet, and a little bit sexy. many thanks for reading.**


	15. strawberries in the library

**strawberries in the library**

'Hello Inspector Lestrade! You're finally here.'

Standing in the dark hallway, wiping his rain soaked, muddy shoes on the mat, Lestrade smiled at young boy who'd just admitted him into the house.

'Hello to you, Archie. Sorry about that. Coach got stuck in mud on the way from London, twice.'

'Well, you're here now, I'm sure they won't mind.'

'They..?'

But without explaining what he meant, Archie was hurriedly foisting a small basket of strawberries into his hands.

'If you could just take these to the library, sir, I've got to go.' And he was dashing away towards the back staircase, to the kitchen and his next errand.

Strawberries? Had Sherlock taken a sudden liking to the fruit? He'd never more than sipped half heartedly at a cup of tea during their previous meetings at Swallow House. Having decamped, with Mrs Hudson and Archie in tow, to his brother's country home for the summer - something about the emptiness and silence of Baker Street not allowing him to think clearly - Sherlock refused to make his way back into London if Lestrade needed him for a case.

So there he was once again, standing in the gloomy vestibule of the Jacobean house, waiting on Sherlock Holmes' pleasure. Though this time with a basket of strawberries; that was different.

As he turned and started down the corridor, he shook his head at the idea that the large, dark house hidden away in a small vale in the Surrey Downs was less empty or silent than 221B. Approaching the door - second on the right he knew already - to the pleasant, well stocked library, he looked down at the basket in his hand. He'd rather hoped for a nice hot cup of tea at least; maybe even one of those delicious scones that had appeared during their last meeting. Oh, well. He knocked on the solid door, adjusting the basket in his hand.

'Come in!'

His heart jumped at the sound of her lovely voice. Surprised, Lestrade's hand hesitated on the door handle. What was she doing there?

As he slowly opened the door, poking his head around, he saw her. Nestled into the window seat, with her legs tucked up under her dress and a book open in her lap, was Miss Hooper. Weak light from the gloomy day outside surrounded her; she looked beautiful, as she always did. Looking up from the page she was reading, her eyes locked with his. And he felt his heart jump again.

'Oh, Inspector! I.. I'm so sorry, I thought you were Archie.. please, do come in.'

Hurriedly getting up out of the little alcove, she brushed down her skirts, settling the folds of dark navy blue fabric around her.

'Miss Hooper.'

He stopped inside the doorway. What did he say? He'd been expecting Sherlock Holmes; that had been the message delivered to his office at Scotland Yard - _The case of the purple corpse is indeed intriguing. I am willing to offer my assistance. Meet me at Swallow House this afternoon._

To find the lovely young St Bartholomew's doctor, Mycroft Holmes's protégé, there instead was a surprise. A nice surprise. His voice deserted him as he saw the delicate pink blush form on her cheeks. Lestrade smiled shyly. He often found himself speechless in her company; standing in the elder Holmes's library was no exception. Miss Hooper looked so at home there, surrounded by books and comfortable armchairs.

After what seemed like an age, he cleared his throat, hesitatingly holding the basket out before him.

'Archie gave me these.' His eyes on her as she started walking towards him. 'I.. I was expecting Sherlock.'

'Sherlock?' Confusion crossed her face. 'He went out early this morning.'

'He did? Strange. A note arrived at the Yard from him, telling me to come here.'

'A note? Sherlock sent you a note? Oh.' Reaching out to take the basket of strawberries, Miss Hooper's eyes searched his. 'He sent me a note too. To come and see the new books and have afternoon tea.'

'Oh.'

Bloody Sherlock. He hadn't wanted his help at all, he'd just wanted to play at amusing himself once again. Sherlock knew of his admiration for Miss Hooper, of how much he liked her; Lestrade was useless at concealing, and the consulting detective could see everything. Mortified, he dropped his eyes, looking down at her hands curving round the basket, so close to his.

'I'm so sorry, Miss Hooper.' Letting go of the basket, he stepped back. 'I.. He shouldn't..'

But her hand on his arm stopped him. 'Inspector Lestrade ...would you join me for tea?'

Her voice, quiet but steady, told him she wasn't insulted by Sherlock's trick. And it was then, as she removed her hand to gesture to the table near them, that he saw it. Set for afternoon tea with a large silver teapot, cups and saucers and plates, and a stand of rather delicious looking cakes. His stomach growled at the sight of them, and he recalled the lacklustre breakfast he'd had - a slice of bread and butter with a cold, greasy sausage and a quickly drunk cup of tea had been the only meal he'd eaten so far that day.

Her soft gentle laugh made him look back over at her; his complaining stomach had been that obvious.

'I.. I would like that.' Lestrade pulled out a chair for her. He would most definitely like that.

Smiling, Miss Hooper's curious, lovely eyes sought his again and he felt her hand lightly rest against his on the back of the chair. 'So would I.'

* * *

**For anon prompt - _strawberries, library._ The first thing that popped into my head for this was Victorian Molstrade. I love those gorgeous libraries in old houses and the idea of Greg and Molly and a basket of strawberries took shape in my head. Many thanks for reading.**


	16. gentle

**gentle**

'Oh, hello.'

The small shivering bundle of fur looked up at him. But it didn't move. Squatting down, Greg slowly reached out his hand, not wanting to frighten the animal. It was tucked in tight against the bin, nose twitching.

'What you doing out here then, hey?'

There was no way of knowing who it belonged to. It was all alone in the quiet, freezing alleyway. The small grey rabbit, just a ball of short, soft fur, sat shivering and unmoving on the cold concrete.

'Well, either you've wandered off from somewhere, or..' He grimaced as he gently tucked his fingers under the rabbit and felt the sticky, drying blood on its belly. '...someone's left you behind. Hey, it's ok.'

Feeling it tremble against his hand, Greg put the coffee carrier down. With both hands, he slowly, carefully lifted the rabbit, tucking it into his chest.

'There, it's ok. You're alright now.'

He looked around; of all the places to abandon an animal. By the bins in an alleyway, in winter; the poor thing was shaking against him. Greg was glad he'd taken his usual shortcut from the coffee shop to Barts, instead of popping by the bakery.

'Right, let's get you out of here.' Pulling his coat gently over the trembling rabbit, he stood up, picking up the coffees. 'I'm just on my way to see someone who might be able to help.'

...

'Hi there!' Molly looked up from her desk, smiling, as he pushed the door of her office open with his elbow. 'I'm almost done with the... oh!'

Placing the coffees on the desk, he was carefully lifting the rabbit from under his coat. 'Look, I'm really sorry, it's probably against every rule you've got here, but I couldn't leave them out in the cold and I...'

And Molly was up out of her chair, clearing a space on her desk, grabbing her scarf from her bag. 'Of course you couldn't. Oh, the poor thing, there's blood all over its belly. Here, pop it down here..'

Carefully placing the rabbit on top of the scarf, Greg stepped back as Molly examined its belly. He watched her, transfixed. With the dead or the living, she had such a gentle manner that made him care for her more every time he saw it.

'Ok, you look like you've got a small cut under there, sweetheart.' Stroking the rabbit's head. 'I'm going to have to clean you and tape that up. And then we can pop by the vet's on the way home. Greg, can you grab the first aid kit?'

Turning, he saw the green box on the filing cabinet. As he passed it to her, their hands touched and he felt the shiver run up his arm and across his heart. Even now, the feel of her still had that effect on him. Molly looked up and he couldn't resist bringing his lips down onto her cheek. A soft kiss and he pulled back.

'What was that for?' Her gorgeous brown eyes looking into his.

'For being you, Mrs Lestrade.'

Reaching up to press her lips to his, Molly grinned. 'Why thank you, Mr Hooper.'

* * *

**I can't resist a small bundle of fur, and I'm sure that Greg would be just the kind of guy to rescue an injured animal. And more married Molstrade - there's a pattern developing here! Many thanks for reading.**


	17. A Christmas Snog

**A Christmas Snog**

'Molly, I'm closer in age to your mum than you.'

'By five years! Not that much closer.' Placing her arms around his waist, her head against his chest. 'And you know that doesn't matter to me.'

'I know, love.' His lips pressed against her temple and Molly felt the shiver down her spine. 'But your mum does think I'm too old for you.'

'What did she say?' Her voice muffled against his jumper.

'She said that I was a lot older than you, and more experienced. By which I assume she means the divorce.'

'I'm sorry.' Hugging him tighter at the catch in his voice. 'She'll be ok with it. She's just worried, always has done. She likes you.'

'How can you tell she likes me?' Greg pulled back from their embrace, and Molly felt the freezing cold air slip in between them.

'Second helpings of Christmas pudding.' Tugging him back against her, snuggling back under his coat. 'She definitely likes you.'

'Hmm.'

Molly squeezed Greg and let her fingers rub his back. Standing out under a clear Christmas evening sky, they held each other close. After a late breakfast and presents, then Christmas dinner and champagne, they'd made their excuses and snuck outside for some fresh air. And some time alone. Molly knew Greg had been nervous about spending his first Christmas with her family; he'd only met her mum once, and her brother a couple of times. But she knew they liked him. While she wished they wouldn't, she also knew they were comparing him to Tom and how much happier she was with Greg; her mum had whispered as much to her as they peeled the spuds that morning.

Shaking her head, Molly brought herself back to the present, and the gorgeous feel of Greg in her arms, his heart beat echoing in her ear as she lay her head on his chest.

'Shall we go back in?'

'You cold?' His hands rubbed along her back, giving her goose bumps.

'No. Not inside the same coat as you I'm not.' Molly's hands found their way down over his backside, gently squeezing. 'But mum'll probably be thinking we're out here smoking or snogging or something equally sneaky.'

'But we were snogging.'

And then his hand was lifting her chin up, his lips back on hers, full of longing. Molly felt herself melting against him. Greg, as she had wonderfully discovered, was an incredible kisser.

Their first shy, hesitant kiss had been full of nerves and worry and relief, both of them still shaken from the death-defying reappearance of Jim in her lab, and the realization that neither of them wanted to lose the other.

Their second kiss, in her office at the end of a long, busy day, had been more sure, more confident and just downright sexy as Greg kept her tight against his body, as though he never wanted to let go her. It had made her rather weak at the knees.

A year on and she still felt a delicious dizziness when his lips sought hers - whether gentle and sweet or hungry and intense.

'Molly!'

Jumping apart at the sudden sound of her mother's voice , Molly quickly dropped her hands from Greg's backside, stepping away from him.

'You two must be freezing. Come inside, Arthur's making coffee.'

'Ok mum ...thanks. Be in in a minute.'

Molly rubbed her hands over her arms, missing the heat of Greg's body under his long warm coat. And as if reading her mind, he drew her back into his arms.

'I could just fancy a nice, hot coffee.' HIs voice was low and rough in her ear. And his fingers were drawing tiny circles on her hip.

'Yeah, and coffee after Christmas dinner is always followed by Christmas Monopoly.' Shivering as his fingers walked their way along her hip and around her waist. 'And my brother is a Monopoly fiend.'

'Is he?' Greg was leaning in, his nose against her neck, his breath tickling her skin.

'Yes..'

Molly gave up trying to resist and let her fingers reach for the waist of his jeans. Slipping between the fabric and his skin, she felt her way in, catching her fingers in the hairs on his stomach as his body shivered under her fingertips.

'And if you're going to do that,' he whispered hoarsely in her ear, 'I don't think I'll be polite enough to stick around for a game of Monopoly.'

'No?' Molly let her hand slip a little lower.

'No.' His hand covered hers through his jeans. 'I may just have to carry you away up those stairs and...'

'Hey, Mol, put him down and get your bum in here. Coffee's going cold and you need to pick a piece.'

Slowly sliding her hand out, Molly winked at Greg. 'I'll keep you to that, Inspector.'

Greg raised his eyebrows, 'Yes, please.'

Resisting the urge to kiss him long and hard, she grabbed his hand and started back across the garden to the kitchen door.

'I've already got the top hat.' Arthur stood in the doorway, the bright kitchen light behind him.

'You always take that one.' Molly squeezed past him, back into the warmth of the house.

'Well, you're too busying snogging the life out of this poor policeman in the freezing cold.'

As Arthur grinned and headed out into the hallway, Greg slipped his hands around her waist from behind, bringing his lips down onto her neck. Molly could feel him against her, and she knew he'd was going to need to wait a bit before joining her family in the front room.

'So Monopoly down here, or our room upstairs?' Greg lips kissed their way up her neck

'You know what they'll think.'

Lips pressed themselves harder against her skin. 'And they'd be right.'

'Molly!' Her mum's head appeared around the doorframe. 'Oh, sorry, you two. Don't mind me.' And she smiled at them.

'Sorry, mum.' Molly could feel herself blushing. It must've been obvious what they'd been doing. 'Be with you in a sec. Start without us.'

'Your brother already has.' Nodding at Greg. 'Don't be long.' And her head disappeared.

Turning, Molly laughed softly as she looked down at Greg's trousers. 'Think of Anderson. That'll help.'

* * *

**Prompt from mollsstrade - _Maybe Greg's first Christmas with Molly's family. _ It did get away from me a little - it started out as a short, sweet fic about Greg's first Christmas with Molly's family and turned into something a little sexy. Oops! But, well, never fight the sexy. Many thanks for reading.**


	18. dinner party debrief

**dinner party debrief**

* * *

_11.32pm: 1 new group message_

**Molly** _You all knew? How long? _

**Mary** _A while. We didn't say anything, knew you would tell us when you were ready._

**John** _And it was none of our business. _

**Molly** _Were we that obvious?_

**Sherlock** _Yes_

**John** _Sherlock. We had that talk, remember._

**Sherlock** _Sorry._

**Molly ** _Sherlock, when did you know?_

**Sherlock** _I suspected when Greg bought that new blue suit._

**Greg** _My new suit?_

**Sherlock** _Yes, you rarely buy new suits, let alone higher end label suits._

**Greg** _He's stalking my wardrobe._

**Molly** _And when did you know for sure, Sherlock?_

**Sherlock ** _When Greg changed his aftershave._

**Greg ** _Seriously?_

**John** _Sherlock, we've talked about the smelling people too._

**Mary** _He smells people?_

**John** _Long story. The dog one._

**Molly** _John? Mary? How long?_

**Mary** _Playing Scrabble at Easter, we saw the looks between you. And Greg's arm across your chair._

**Greg** _I did that? Didn't even realise._

**John** _It was rather sweet, actually._

**Molly** _So we were that obvious._

**John** _No. We could see you guys liked each other but hadn't figured out what to do._

**Sherlock** _Mrs Hudson insists I text that she always thought Molly and Greg would make a lovely couple._

**Greg** _I have to admit that I did ask her advice._

**Molly** _Greg!_

**Greg** _Sorry love._

**Mary** _Mrs Hudson's advice is rarely wrong._

**Greg** _Particularly on this occasion._

**Molly** _I feel a bit of a fool now._

**Mary** _Why? You're not a fool._

**Molly ** _You guys all knew. Not that we were trying to keep it a secret._

**Sherlock** _It was never much of a secret. Greg bringing two coffees to the lab every time was a giveaway._

**John** _Sherlock!_

**Greg** _Sherlock!_

**Mary** _We knew you two just needed time to sort it out. _

**John ** _After all the stuff you've both been through, we left you guys to it._

**Mary ** _And we hoped it'd work out._

**Sherlock** _Which I knew it would._

**Molly** _Thank you._

**Greg** _Thank you. And Molly, you're not a fool - I am, for not realising sooner that you are wonderful and gorgeous and lovely._

**Sherlock** _Lestrade, group text here. Please refrain from such displays._

**Greg** _Shut up Sherlock._

**Mary** _We'll leave you guys to it. And we're really happy for both of you._

**John** _Couldn't have happened to two nicer people._

**Sherlock** _Ugh. Enough, please._

**John** _Shut up Sherlock. _

**Greg** _Shut up Sherlock._

* * *

**Prompt from redrickard - _Molly and Greg go out for the first time as an established couple. Thinking they will be surprising their friends, they are the surprised ones when they discover their group has known all along._**

**Just spent the last couple of hours starting and stopping and going nowhere with a fic, so I decided to just go with the flow and type... and this happened. :)**


	19. cheeky

**[swearing involved!]**

* * *

**cheeky**

'But Daddy said it!'

Molly stopped mid-tie and looked up at her daughter. Dark, brown eyes, just like her father's, looked seriously back at her mother.

'Did he?'

Nodding emphatically, Jenny pointed behind Molly, back towards the kitchen. 'Daddy said it this morning, he did, when he couldn't get the jam open.'

'I see.' Bending her head back down to finish tying their four year old's trainer lace. 'Well, Daddy probably shouldn't be saying it.'

'Is it a bad word?'

'Hmm.'

Sitting back on her heels, Molly inspected Jenny. Trainer laces tied, jacket buttoned up, woolly hat pulled down tight over her flyway brown hair.

'Am I all ready Mummy?' Lifting her arms up, she turned on the spot.

Molly nodded. 'Yep. Now, let's go find Daddy and see what he has to say for himself.'

Jenny tucked her hand in to her mother's, leading her towards the kitchen. 'Daddy! You're in trouble!'

Smiling, Molly manoeuvred around the pile of shoes by the bottom of the stair case as Jenny pulled her along.

'Daddy!'

The sight of that gorgeous head of silver hair made Molly's heart stop. It did every time. Six years of marriage and she was still just as much head over heels and mad about the handsome police man who'd asked her out for coffee, over a corpse in her morgue.

Lifting his head up from the bundle of fur he was trying to towel dry by the kitchen door, Greg smiled at his wife and daughter, while holding tight to Mike, their scruffy Jack Russell, as he squirmed to get free.

'All set there then, Jen?' Lunging as Mike tried to make a break for it. 'Hey, you little bugger, come back here!'

'See, Mummy, Daddy said it again!' Jumping up and down, Jenny tugged on Molly's arm.

Letting go of her daughter's hand - to save her arm from being pulled out of its socket - she looked down at Greg, kneeling on the kitchen floor, upside dog in his hands.

'What?'

'Greg, we talked about this..'

'Ha, Daddy's in trouble!'

Blowing her father a raspberry, Jenny grabbed the towel from him, releasing Mike at the same time.

'Hey, he's not dry yet..!'

But the pair of them were off out the kitchen door, straight back out in the rain. Smiling as he watched his daughter and the family dog running round the apple tree in their garden. Molly waited, looking down at him, still kneeling on the tiled floor.

'What?' Furrowing his eyebrows, Greg tilted his head.

'Don't go all cute on me, Greg Lestrade.' Molly nodded towards the open kitchen door. 'You're doing it again.'

'What? Saying 'bugger'?'

Hauling himself up off the floor, he moved towards her, his arms encircling her waist. And started dropping quick kisses on her forehead and cheeks.

'No, don't try getting out of it..' Placing her hands on his chest, Molly leaned back. '..swearing in front of Jenny.'

'Which... we ...agreed...' Between soft kisses on her eyelids and lips. '..was ...ok...if...we...explained...'

His lips lingered on hers and Molly felt her heart turn over. And his fingers started stroking her back, sending little shivers along her spine.

'Cheeky bugger.' And her fingers found their way into his hair, pulling the long silver strands back from his forehead.

'Ha! Mummy swore too!'

Jumping apart at the sound of Jenny's voice, they turned to find her standing on the back step, both her and Mike completely soaked, with added mud on their faces.

Laughing, Greg swooped down and grabbed Jenny round the middle. 'Now who's the cheeky bugger, hey! Look at you!' Lifting her up off the ground as she squealed and squirmed. 'Right, in the bath with you!'

* * *

**For anon prompt - _Greg/Molly + kids._ I was inspired by Rupert Graves' Guardian interview: _Which phrases do you most overuse? - "No, you can't say, 'What the fuck' until you're six."_ A little more married Molstrade with added family dog. Many thanks for reading.**


	20. something new

**something new**

'Greg?'

Pressing her foot against his lap, she could feel him beneath his trousers, soft and relaxed.

'Hmm?'

His hand curled around her foot, stroking, rubbing. Flexing her toes, Molly watched him, his eyes closed, head lolling against the back of the sofa.

Greg looked contented. That gorgeous, lazy smile of his as he wriggled beneath her foot, his face happy and relaxed. Just like he'd looked on Sunday morning after a few slow hours spent in bed together; as he lay by her side, his fingers had softly brushed up and down her skin, both of them rather naked and cosy.

Sex with Greg had been so much more than she'd ever thought it could be - happy, slow, comfortable, intense, easy and a lot of fun. Watching him as he rolled his head towards her, his eyes slowly opening, Molly felt her heart stumble. He was such a beautiful man; a man who wanted her, and made her feel loved. A love that gave her confidence.

'I was… I was reading this article, well, someone at work was reading it and it… it was about, you know, things to try in bed…'

'Yeah?' Raising an eyebrow as his hand moved its way over her ankle and up her leg. 'Anything interesting?'

It'd caught her eye, the article in Mena's Cosmopolitan, and Molly's curiosity was piqued. And she'd wondered whether Greg might maybe, possibly consider it.

'Um, yes… there was something that I.. I thought might be nice to try.'

Hauling himself upright, Greg knelt on the sofa. Placing his hands either side of her legs, that irresistible sexy look in his eyes, he slowly made his way up towards her.

'What did you have in mind?'

His voice had that rough, low edge that Molly loved, and that made her whole body tingle. Perched over her, his knees straddling her, Greg let his hand rest against the front of her trousers.

'Um, well, ..something new.'

Wriggling under his touch as his finger knew just which spot to linger on. His lips slowly curved up into that seductive smile, and her insides melted.

'What is it?'

His eyes held onto hers, and Molly was drawn into them. He looked at her so openly and honestly, and it made her feel just that little bit braver.

'I can, um… I can show you.'

Leaning forward, moving his hand to the arm of the sofa behind her, he let his mouth briefly touch hers, a teasing kiss as his other hand cupped her cheek. Feeling the heat against her skin, Molly closed her eyes. Greg on top of her, his chest pressing on hers, his hardness against her stomach, was just so incredibly sexy.

His lips brushed along her neck. 'I'd like that.'

Hearing the hoarseness in his voice made her skin prickle, and she felt it rush straight down her body. And as his hand gently caressed her neck, Greg caught her eyes back into his. She felt her heart kick; his eyes told her exactly how he felt about her, and Molly knew she loved him just as fiercely.

'You would?'

As she reached for his trousers, Greg's fingertips skimmed delicately along her skin. Down her neck, along her collarbone, stopping to tenderly caress her nipple through her shirt. She shivered and slipped her hand past his waistband and inside, feeling his warm, hairy skin.

'Molly..' Another light almost kiss on her lips. '..I'd love it.'

* * *

**Anon prompt: _established!Mollstrade - Molly wants to try something new. _I rarely write sexy fics, but this definitely calls out for it. I love the idea of Molly and Greg being all domestic and comfy on their sofa, but then things take an interesting turn! Many thanks for reading.**


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